


Late Nights and Cold Coffee

by GypsyQueen7



Category: FBI (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Insecure!Jubal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyQueen7/pseuds/GypsyQueen7
Summary: Just a fluffy one-shot with Jubal coming home after working extra late on a case and his girlfriend trying to stay up until he gets home. Dash of angst-Jubal for good measure.
Relationships: Jubal Valentine/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Late Nights and Cold Coffee

As another ad for the "innovation in home cooking" appears on the TV, I glance at my phone again for the fifth time in the last hour. 10:04 blinks at me and the No New Notifications words mock me. The light from the TV seems brighter than it did a minute ago and I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute against the glare and the urge to keep them closed tugs at me. Opening them again to glare at the very happy women on screen who was apparently loving the cooking device that would "change my life forever". Snorting at her fakeness, I go in search of the sure thing that would keep me awake - caffeine.

I lean against the counter watching the kettle boil. I could just go to bed, the little voice in my head reasoned. There was really no need to stay up and wait for him to get home. But I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep - the bed would be too big without him hogging three quarters of it, too cold without his arms curled around me and far too quiet without his heartbeat in my ear. Even as I nod to myself that that was definitely the reason, I was staying up the smaller voice in my head whispered that he might not come home at all, that the idea of going to sleep and waking up to him not being here was just too horrible to contemplate. Squashing that voice hard, I shake my head and pour the hot water over the coffee granules, reminding myself that he was good at his job.

Hugging the steaming mug to my chest, I wander back into the living room, dropping my phone back onto the coffee table, I settle backwards against the corner of the sofa, feet curled underneath me, as the cop show I had been watching restarts again. The case is solved, the murderer is in custody and the credits role on the TV a short while later and just as I go to turn the TV off, the next episode starts. Glancing again at my phone and the lack of messages, I sigh and settle back to watch the next one and somehow the episode after that too. By the first ad break of my fourth episode however, my memory kicks in and I remember this episode – it was the uncle who was the killer I nod to myself. Untucking my legs to lean forward and grab the remote off of the table, and as the TV screen goes black, I hiss in pain. My legs protest at the movement off of the couch and as I stand up the loud crack from my back shows my body’s hatred of being curled up in one position for so long. Rolling my shoulders, I stretch my legs out in front of me on the sofa hoping to ease the aching in the joints and just watch the sky go from dark blue to black outside of the window. With that transition, bright lights fill the outlines of the buildings across the street illuminating the view out of the window. I turn my attention to the road below and my eyes start to grow heavy as I watch the stream of car lights flickering along the streets outside, winding their way downtown. The swoosh of cars and the occasional horn of a taxi are the only sounds that fill the apartment for a while, lulling me.

I muffle a yawn and, grabbing my coffee off of the table, I swig the stone-cold liquid. I wince at the rancid taste of cold coffee and dumping the cup back on the table again, I pick up my book to try and distract myself from the sleep that was invading my mind. It takes another hour for me to get the realisation that the words just aren't going in. I have no idea how the heroine has suddenly got from Chicago to Moscow and I conclude that I should probably re-read the last chapter and a half to find out and stop kidding myself that I am paying attention. With a sigh I dump the book downwards onto my chest and rub my hands across my eyes. As I open them again, I cushion my head on my left arm against the side of the sofa and watch through half-closed eyes as one by one the lights in the buildings opposite start to turn off until the buildings are plunged into black shapes in the night. I turn my attention to the red light on the skyline watching it blink on and off, on and off. I try to force my eyes back open but the red light has a hypnotic effect and sleep claims its most unwilling victim.

* * *

Unsurprisingly at 2am, the subway car is empty. In fact, except for a few teenagers scantily dressed in car one and what looks to be maintenance workers in fluorescent jackets in car two, Jubal is alone on the train. Co-ordinating three different and very unhelpful agencies, 25 FBI agents and 2 teams out in the field through a bomb threat on downtown New York is his job and a job he enjoyed very even if it had taken the better part of 18 hours to finish – but hey just another day at the office. The late-night subway train journeys home had become a staple part of his job over the years. The click click of the car going over the tracks is soothing, the station announcements were familiar and the silence of the car settled his brain down more than any other stress-relief techniques he had tried over the years. He no longer needed to listen for the announcement of his station, getting off instinctively on his stop. At the top of the steps up to the street, he paused to pull his coat further around him as icy wind flicked at the ends of his scarf.

The walk home is short and untroubling. New York it seems is the city that was asleep tonight – no taxi horns or sirens break the night air, the hum of cars on the streets are quiet, even his breath silent puffs of fog on the air. He pulls off his gloves and stuffs them in his pockets as he takes the stairs in his building two at a time. His front door looms into view in front of him and suddenly the thought makes him pause. So unused to having someone to come home to after the divorce, without the art of not waking the kids or in later years Sam, he was out of practice at sneaking into his apartment in the dawn hours.

Jubal eases the front door open wincing at the squeak of the hinges. He pauses for a minute when the click of the lock echoes around the hallway loudly, listening for any kind of movement in the apartment. Nothing stirs and his coat and scarf shrugged off and hung on the back of the door. He toes off his shoes, leaving them where they are in the hallway, as he tiptoes down the hallway to the bedroom door. Pushing the door open he is confronted with an empty bed - the pillows are still plump; sheets are flat and unrumpled. He moves further forward, blinking like she will appear in the bed when he opens his eyes again – a trick of sleep deprivation. The bedroom is empty, in fact there is no sign she has been in here at all. The apartment is quiet, too quiet and fear grips his stomach. Irrationality overtakes his brain and he moves further forwards into the room quickly, yanking open the wardrobe to find… their clothes - her dresses and jeans intertwined with his shirts and trousers. He blows a breath out; he mentally berates himself at his insecurity as he shuts the wardrobe door and goes out of the bedroom. The kitchen and living room are both clouded in darkness, confusion furrows his brow as he moves forward into the living room and that’s when he sees it – a coffee cup on the table.

Rounding the sofa, he sees her. She’s laying on the sofa, a book open on her chest and her chest rising and falling gently. Her head is on her arm, her neck at a funny angle that’s gonna hurt like hell tomorrow – well he supposes later today now when she wakes. Her face is calm, strands of hair fall around her face and as he watches she murmurs in her sleep, shifting on the sofa. He moves forward then, crouching down in front of the couch and smooths a hand across her cheek. Her eyes flicker open at the contact and connect with his. Jubal braces - for the glare, for the hissed barbed words. After all its 2:30am, Sam would have been livid with him for being this late, no matter what the emergency at work had been. There would have been unbearable heavy tension as she ignored him and then, when the kids had gone to school or day-care, there would have been the screaming argument that he would never be able to win – the argument that his family should be more important. Yet his answer never seemed to satisfy – his job wasn’t 9-5, he couldn’t just turn his computer off at 5pm and have done.

He waited, but there is just silence, she blinks at him, unseeing for a minute or so and then her eyes focus on his face properly. Again, he tenses and holds his breath… in vain. A smile lights up her face, warmth shines out of her eyes and her hand comes up to cup his cheek. He lets out a breath and presses a kiss on her forehead as he helps her sit upright, putting the book on the table,

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

His voice is loud in the apartment, raspy from all the shouting around the JOC that he had done that day. She moves, poking his arm until he moves it upwards and he smiles as she shuffles into his side,

“I was waiting for you.”

Her sentence ended in a big yawn as she laid her head on his shoulder. His arm settled on her side, pulling her against him gently, feeling her warmth seeping through his shirt.

“You didn’t have to”

He counters quickly – not wanting her to feel like she had to stay up for him. After all, this was one night of many that were going to be late and she also had to work in the morning.

“I know. I couldn’t sleep without you”

Her voice had gone quieter, almost to a whisper and she ducks her head at the last sentence hiding her face in his side. Warmth spreads through his chest at her confession and he moves her head upwards out of hiding to press a soft chaste kiss on her lips. He feels her squirm slightly next to him as his beard scratches at her skin. He pulls back to look at her. Her eyes are already sliding back closed again and she is leaning a lot of her weight against his body. Shaking her shoulder slightly he says,

“Come on – lets go to bed huh”

“Well Mr Valentine, I’m not that kind of girl!”

She teases gently, laughing at him as she stands, grabbing her phone off of the table. Jubal wraps an arm around her shoulders as they head for the bedroom and blissful bed.


End file.
